Pieces
by otterwarrior16
Summary: Pieces left broken and scattered on the ground. This is all Will Traveler believes his past is, but there's always more to a story then one thinks...This is the beginning, before he was Will Traveler but when he was Stephen Mailer.
1. Chapter 1

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Summary: _Pieces left broken and scattered on the ground. That is all Will Traveler believes his past is, but there's always more to a story then one thinks...This is the beginning. Before he was Will Traveler, but when he was Stephen Mailer._

**So this is a fic I had an idea for. It's based on the Tv show, Traveler, and is basically about the main character, Will. There may be spoilers if you haven't seen the show, and most of the ideas from his past, such as his name and how he had no father came from David Giglios blog that answered questions about the unfinished show. There will be my own changes, such as the addition of Anne and other plot ideas. If this continues, it will probably go till Stephen is about 15 or maybe older. Please tell me if you enjoy it and if you have any ideas for it. I'm just making this up as I go along.**

**_The show and its characters do not belong to me._**

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There was something comforting about swinging in an empty playground. It would be all silent except for the wind rushing at you and then with you, forwards and backwards, like an unending cycle. This, 8 year old Stephen Mailer decided, was the best thing in the world.

It was nearly dark, but it wasn't too late out. Stephen liked winter weather because he was allowed out after dark sometimes and the playground down the street from his house was usually unoccupied. He was bundled up so much it was difficult to breathe, though, and that was one thing he didn't enjoy. Jumping off the old swing set, he un-did the three top snaps and took a deep breath of the chilling air, his bluish green eyes staring at the darkening sky.

Stephen sighed deeply and stuck his hands in his pockets, walking over to the wooden bench. He had to climb a bit to get on, which irked him greatly. He was smaller then most kids in his class and they always made fun of his stunted height. Stephen hated that.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" A kindly, unfamiliar voice broke into his thoughts. Stephen started and lifted his head to gaze up at a woman he'd never seen before. Her hair was short and brown, though it was obviously dyed with blonde. She was probably going grey, Stephen thought, though he wisely held this thought to himself. She was average in height, and looked like a mother. Yes, a perfect mother figure. Not someone to be afraid of.

"Nothing," he said in is timid, quiet voice, moving over for her to sit down. She did and glanced over at him.

"I'm Ann," she said with a smile. Stephen, unused to such kindness, didn't smile back but looked away.

"I'm Stephen," he replied in response, looking down at his gloved hands. Silence reigned for a few minutes, their breathing the only sound besides birds and the occasional shift on the bench.

"So what is it you like to do?" Ann asked after a moment.

"I like to draw."

"Really? What kind of things?"

Stephen, instead of answering, took his sketch book out of his coat pocket and handed it to her, jittering a little in nervousness. He'd never shown anyone his sketch book before, as he preferred to keep his drawings to himself. Something about the elder woman made him want to show her, made him want to hear her words of praise.

Stephen nearly jumped out of his skin when she gently laid her hand on his shoulder. He moved his head gradually to look up at her, his sandy brown hair peaking out of his hat and nearly covering his large eyes. There was a big infectious smile on her face, and Stephen's own lips twitched upwards slightly at the look of happiness. Her next words were music to his ears.

"They're all wonderful, but especially this one." She held the sketch book out to him, open to one of the first pages. A realistic illustration of one of his classmates with their father was drawn on the paper in pencil. Stephen usually avoided looking at that one because he'd always wanted a father to love him, and the image of a boy who looked a little like himself hugging their father was a perfect depiction of that lacking relationship. It made him realize his loss.

The little boy took the book from her and stared down at the page. He snapped it shut and put it away hurriedly, his lower lip trembling a bit, his hands clenched into fists.

Anne, perturbed by his reaction, moved closer and put her arm around his shoulder, feeling the heavy sobs even through the puffy, ragged coat. Stephen held tightly to her, his tears leaving stains on her khaki jacket. She didn't mind though. The poor boy was probably just emotional and lonely. He mustn't be more then seven or eight and he was all by himself at an empty park. That had been one of the reasons she had stopped to talk to him. Because he was alone.

"It's okay," she murmured, rubbing his back. She'd always liked that when she had been a young girl.

Stephen had never cried in front of a stranger before. He preferred to hold in his emotions and cry afterwards. But Anne didn't seem to mind, so he continued to let his tears fall, sniffling into her clothes. However good it felt to be hugged, he pulled back after a few minutes and wiped away the few remaining drops that hadn't fallen. It was embarrassing to know she was staring at him and wondering what on earth was wrong with him, so Stephen glared at the ground, his ears burning.

"Do you not have a dad?" she asked in that soothing, caring voice. Stephen shook his head shamefully, propping his elbows on his knees and nestling his chin on his palms.

"He left when I was 2 years old."

"So you live with your mother?"  
"Yeah," Stephen was silent, and then he blurted out the words that he had been holding back.

"I'm really sorry for bothering you. I-I didn't mean to cry or anything," he mumbled, gazing blank faced at her. Her small grin made him feel a little better for being stupid enough to let go of his carefully built façade he wore in public.

"Don't worry about it. How 'bout I buy you some hot chocolate at that shop down the street and then I'll walk you home."

Stephen appeared startled at first, but finally nodded slowly.

"I guess," he said shyly, getting to his feet. She held her hand out to him, and he tentatively took her blue gloved hand with his black one.

On the way there Anne exclaimed how pretty the Christmas lights were and chatted about her daughter that was coming to visit the next day and how her other daughter was going to give birth to her second granddaughter in a few months. It was nice to hear all the family stories. Stephen felt himself wishing he had a life like that, but he remained silent as a stone, except for laughing at the funny things she said.

The café was packed with people, and Stephen had to clutch Anne's hand tightly so as not to get lost. It made him nervous with all the people crowding around.

"Do you want peppermint hot chocolate, or regular?" She asked, looking up at the menu. Stephen squinted up at it and then tried shouting over the din.

"Regular."

"Alright then. We'll have one regular hot chocolate and one peppermint hot chocolate to go, please," she told the waitress. The teenager nodded and accepted the money.

"Over there. Your number is 129."

"Thanks." Anne replied, leading Stephen over to the counter where drinks were continually popping up and being taken and numbers were called nonstop. Finally, 129 was called and Anne grabbed the drinks off the counter, handing Stephen his once they got outside. The warmth seeped through his gloves and he grinned contentedly just because. He hadn't done that in a long time.

Anne noticed this and wisely remained silent, while he started towards his home, beginning to slowly talk to her about his life. She'd hoped he would, and she'd been right. He wasn't shy, like she'd at first thought, but guarded. He looked like was used to being put down and pushed away, thought of second, and regarded as a boring individual.

Stephen was anything but, she discovered. He enjoyed to draw and make up stories based on his pictures. He was excited for Christmas since his Uncle would be coming and they could put a tree, and his favorite sport was running.

Anne liked the way his face would light up when he laughed and his multicolored eyes would brighten from their usual downcast expression. He was so caught up in telling her about what he'd learned in History the day before he nearly dropped his hot chocolate gesturing. This seemed to bring him back to earth and she watched the transformation occur from the happy young child to the sullen, lonely boy.

"My house is right up ahead," he said with much less enthusiasm, his cheeks reddening a bit. Anne guessed he was uncomfortable for opening up so much. The house he'd said was his was an old, broken down looking shack. It fit in perfectly with the rest of the shabby houses. There was a light on in one of the rooms and a half hearted attempt at Christmas decorations in the window. Anne sighed, despairing for the child's condition in life.

Stephen bit his lip before he spoke, "Uh, thanks for the hot chocolate, and for walking me home," he murmured. So he was back to the mumbling again, Anne thought sadly.

"Alright. Have a good Christmas!" She patted him on the head and watched him trudge up the stairs into his house. He waved at her before he shut the door behind him with a light bang.

Anne turned and started walking back to her house, which was on the opposite side of the park and definitely was better off then this neighborhood. She knew exactly what to get Stephen for Christmas. After all, it was only 5 days away and she wanted to get something for him, just to see him smile.

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**_Please read and review:)_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_So here's the second part, and it's kinda boring, but it's the link to the next big happening. It took me forever to think of a plot, but I finally think I have a solid enough one. Please R&R, and thanks to _SavvyRavenclaw20, Nariel Tinuviel, Survival-Chick, and illminded _for the reviews on the first chapter._**

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Stephen heard the radio blaring some sort of gospel music from the kitchen as soon as he entered the door, and he could faintly distinguish his mother's soft voice singing along. Removing his winter coat and jacket he placed them on the ground next to his boots and walked up to his room, taking his sketch book with him and not bothering to tell his mother where he'd been.

His room, a very small place, was pretty much bare. Stephen liked to keep it clean, so his clothes were all in their drawers and his stuff was lined up along the wall. His school books, which he'd need after the Christmas break was finished, were stacked on his old bookshelf along with damaged books that he'd gotten free from the library.

Stephen sat down Indian style on his bed and opened the sketch book to an empty page, grabbing a pencil from his night stand. He wanted to draw something for Anne, but he wasn't quite sure where to start. She'd liked the one of the young boy with his father, so how about a girl with her mother? A smile spread across his face and he set to work. The mother would be like Anne and the girl would be like she'd described her daughter.

An hour later, Stephen made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, where the smell of grilled cheese was wafting from. His mother, a tired, small woman who only resembled her son a bit, was at the stove flipping the sandwiches.

She didn't turn at the sound of the chair scraping against the dirty tile floor, which indicated Stephen had sat down at the table.

"Mom," he started, "When's Uncle Jamie coming?"

She shrugged her frail shoulders as she placed the grilled cheeses on two plates and brought them to the table, putting one in front of Stephen. She took a seat and then replied in the same, quiet voice as her son.

"I think tomorrow. Common, let's say grace."

Stephen obediently bent his head as she began praying for the food and for them to have a good Christmas and for Uncle Jamie to have a safe trip. It was only a minute or two, but the smell coming from the sandwich on the plate in front of him was making Stephen's mind focus only on the food.

When she finished he took a large bite out of his food and stared at his mother eat with his big intense eyes.

"So what did you do today?" she asked after a while. Stephen polished the plate off and motioned in the direction where the park was.

"I went to the park and this nice lady bought me hot chocolate," he simply skipped the part of him crying. His mother already had enough burdens trying to get enough money for them.

"Really?" She asked airily, her mind obviously somewhere else. He nodded in response, staring hungrily at the rest of her food. She didn't notice and finished without giving him a second glance.

He sighed and watched her get up to start the dishes, when the phone rang. She put her plate by the sink and started towards the living room, where they kept the phone.

"Do those dishes will you?" She called back to him just a moment before she said in a polite, much changed voice, "Hello?"

Stephen couldn't make out much of the conversation above the rushing water on the dishes, but he heard a few words like, "Two, no, and please."

It was infuriating to not be able to know who she was talking to and what about. She was still on the phone when he ceased drying the dishes and had put them away.

The boy crept towards the living room and peeked around the door frame. Her back was facing towards him and she was rocking back and forth on her heels. Stephen tilted his head a bit at her attitude. It was strange, she didn't sound nervous but she definitely was acting anxious.

The call ended with a cheerful, "Bye!" and then his mother sank onto the couch and put her head in her hands. Stephen deemed it safe to venture forward and sit beside her.

"Mom? Momma? What's wrong?"

She didn't answer, but he could see her shaking her head silently.

"Mom?" He asked again. After a moment she turned to face him and placed her hands on both his cheeks and stared into his transfixed eyes.

"Stephen, your Uncle Jamie's bringing someone with him. It's your father."

Stephen stared back dumbly, trying to understand why she was smiling a tired and troubled smile, one meant just to cheer him up, a fake one, he thought. He could feel anger, and sadness rolling off her in waves.

Mutely, he leaned forward and put his head on her shoulder and his scrawny arms around her neck, just because. The second thing he'd done that day that surprised even him. Stephen rarely saw his mother since she was always working at the hotel as a laundry lady, and he just as rarely hugged her. But tonight she needed comforting for something he couldn't comprehend.

And amazingly, she hugged him back.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Here's the third part, slightly longer then the last. I know it's a really quick update, but I had a sudden idea how to write this. R&R. :)_**

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The next day, Stephen was sitting on the front porch steps, shivering slightly in just his jeans and a huge sweat shirt that made him look even smaller. He didn't care though, because he was too excited to care. Uncle Jamie would be arriving in less then an hour and they could get a tree maybe the next day, unlike last year where his Uncle had been too busy working to come.

Stephen was unsure how to think of his father, however. Every time he contemplated about it he'd shudder and be slightly frightened. This was partly because his mother had seemed so…terrified the night before.

Then the question of _why_ his father had left would strike him and it would be a stupid circle of why's. Was his father abusive, was he a drunk, did Mom not like him because he lost money easily and put the family into debt? All these questions plagued his mind. **If** his father was any of those things, Stephen hoped it was the lost money easily one. A girl who lived down the street, who was about 15, had a drunken dad. She'd babysat Stephen once or twice and poured her whole life story out to him. Stephen had hated listening to all the gritty details about the man's shouting, but he hadn't said anything. The girl, Katie, probably just wanted someone to talk to and a lonely, quiet 8 year old boy was most likely more preferable then someone her own age.

The sound of a car door slamming made Stephen's head snap upwards. He'd unwittingly been staring at the ground and tapping his feet while he thought, forgetting that he was supposed to be watching for Uncle Jamie.

Sure enough, his Uncle's old rust colored Mercedes was parked in the driveway, and the two men had just gotten out of the car. Stephen didn't move, just followed them with his eyes.

Uncle Jamie was very tall, nearly 6'2", with a head of dark brown hair and stern blue eyes that were set deep into his stone like face. It was easy to tell he had been disciplined well as a child, and there was a sort of strength in his looks. Stephen wished the bulky man would smile more, 'cause he would've been a lot more likeable then he already was.

The other man was almost as tall as his brother, though slimmer. His face was even harder then Jamie's, his eyes the same color as Stephen's, just duller. Dark brown hair swept across his forehead and strayed into his eyes overshadowing them and making him look somewhat menacing. Stephen shuddered involuntarily, getting to his feet and waving to Uncle Jamie, purposely avoiding looking his father in the face.

"Hey there, Stephen!" Uncle Jamie said with a warm smile that definitely made him more joyful. Stephen had a feeling he didn't do it very often though. "You excited for Christmas?" He said in his deep, booming voice, scooping the little boy up in a big, strong hug.

When Stephen was let go of he nodded, trying to catch his breath after being nearly squeezed to death.

"Hello, Stephen."

The man, _no, not the man, dad, _Stephen thought, had come up beside Uncle Jamie and was staring at Stephen as if he was a ghost.

"Hi," Stephen mumbled, evading the eyes that were so much like his own and were currently trying to bore a hole in him.

Stephen led them inside and called for his mother, who was in the kitchen. She came out, and he was pretty sure he was the only one who saw the small moment of fleeting panic in her eyes. But it passed and she put a smile on and said hello to her brother-in-law and her husband. Stephen sat down on the floor, listening to their idle talk.

His father was more like a stranger, one of those people you saw on the streets and pulled your kids past them faster. Stephen was scared of the man sitting on the sofa drumming his fingers on his knee while Uncle Jamie and Mom talked.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest and tried to stop the panicky thoughts circling in his head. Of course his father wouldn't hurt him. He'd probably just stay for Christmas and then leave and never come back, leave them with their life as it was. And Stephen could go on like he was; an alone, fatherless boy.

3 days later, on Christmas Eve, Stephen had managed to be around his father without trembling and stuttering. At the moment though, he was driving with Uncle Jamie to get a Christmas tree while his parents had a talk at home.

The Mercedes was playing loud oldies rock music, a type of music Stephen disliked but dealt with, and Jamie was singing along. Stephen was looking out the window shifting every once in a while to get more comfortable in the seat with his big puffy coat on.

When they got to the tree lot, Uncle Jamie grabbed his hand and started walking with him down the rows to look for a perfect tree.

"This one?"

"Too tall. Our ceiling's short."

"How about this one? It's nice and full."

"It's too fat. We'd need to buy extra lights."

"This?"

This one they came upon Stephen actually liked. It was small and scrawny, and the top bent over a little, but it had character. He'd learned that word in school, and decided that things all must have character, personality, and something unique about it. He liked the tree because it was different and fit in with their house.

"Yeah, that one."

And they got it. It fit easily on the top of the car, and Jamie had no trouble tying it there. Stephen sat in the car, waiting. On second thought, he discreetly switched the radio station to Christmas music.

His uncle got into the car and had to shut the stubborn door twice before it actually closed, then he started the car.

"So how do you feel about your dad being back?" Uncle Jamie asked while they drove back. Stephen shrugged.

"I suppose it's alright."

"You'll get used to him. I think he's deciding tonight if he's going to leave with me in two days or stay with you guys."

At those words Stephen had another jolt of fear, which he angrily put down. He had no right to be afraid, for his dad hadn't _done_ anything, he'd just sat there and looked intimidating. Guiltily, he sank lower into his seat and tried not to be such a coward.

It was dark by the time they got home, and only one light was on in the house. Stephen got that feeling of dread again and he had no idea why. While Uncle Jamie got the tree off the car roof, he crept into the house and listened to the sound of a bottle being placed down on the table.

He peered into the kitchen where his father was sitting taking a deep swig from a beer cup and holding a lighted cigarette. His mother wasn't there. Stephen gulped and quietly went into the living room. She wasn't there either. More then a little frightened he checked her room and thankfully found her there, tying up her hair.

"Momma?" He whimpered, relief flooding into him because she was there. _And where else would she be?_ he asked himself.

She turned around and looked down at him.

"What's wrong Stephen, is it your father?" His eyes widened at her face. There was a purplish blue bruise on her cheek. Why was her voice so…natural? Did it hurt? He turned his face away and walked back the way he'd come.

"I-it's nothing," he stammered, running into his room and shutting the door as quietly as possible. He could hear Uncle Jamie and his dad conversing downstairs. Jamie's voice was soft, but his father's was loud and slurred.

Stephen got under his covers and buried his face in his pillow, ignoring the fact that his stomach was growling. He was too scared to go downstairs and get something to eat.


	4. Chapter 4

**_So here's the fourth chapter. I had difficulty writing this, and at the end you can probably tell I drifted off a bit. Eh. Thanks to my wonderful sister for giving me this plot. I had a different plot, involved with Anne, but my sister thought up this better one. Hope it doesn't sound too farfetched. Thanks to my reviewers, again, and to the people on Traveler forum. :)_**

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"Stephen, you want to help put the tree up?" Uncle Jamie called up, and when the boy didn't answer he went upstairs. Stephen's door was shut, and when he looked inside he could see his nephews still form on the bed, his breathing heavy. Smiling slightly, Jamie shut it behind him and went back downstairs to start stringing the lights up.

Not surprisingly, Jamie found the lights were mostly broken. Figures, he thought. The box had probably been thrown around a lot and discarded. With a deep sigh, he checked his wallet and then headed out to the nearest 24 hour store that was open on Christmas to see if they had any tree lights. It was going to be a long search.

Stephen stirred at the sound of muted shouting. Blinking owlishly, he peered at his digital clock, which read 8:50. He rubbed his bleary eyes and got out of his bed, making sure to step softly so the floor didn't creak.

It was incredibly cold in his room, so he grabbed a sweat shirt and slipped some socks on before he crept down the stairs. The shouting was louder the moment he had opened his door, and he could distinctly hear his mother. It was strange. She never yelled.

He crawled down the staircase and stopped until he was standing right in the doorframe, easily noticeable to his mother but invisible to his father, who was leering drunkenly at his mother.

"Momma," Stephen whispered, clutching the structure at the sudden weakness in his knees.

He didn't want her to get hurt; he didn't want to see her pain. The shrieking of his mother matched the roaring of his father. It was almost surreal to see the normally quiet, indistinguishable house so loud.

Where was Uncle Jamie? One glance out the window showed his car was gone, and Stephen made a guess that he'd gone out for something, before this had happened.

Stephen was snapped back to the present.

"You disgusting pig! You better leave now, I refuse to let you stay here and destroy Stephen like you destroyed me!" His mother was yelling in a high pitched, frantic tone of voice. His father's slurred words were bellowed so deafeningly it was impossible to understand them.

And at that moment, Stephen knew he had to do something, anything, because that feeling had risen up in him. That fearful, cowardly feeling that left him feeling helpless and empowered at the same time.

Stephen raced forward without a second thought and stopped right in between his parents.

"Leave her alone," he growled menacingly into the startled silence, while he stood protectively in front of his mother. The large man before him sneered and reached behind him to pull something out of his belt. Stephen's eyes followed as if in slow motion, his hands curling into fists.

"I said leave her-" He was cut off at a gun being leveled at his head. Stephen's dark cerulean orbs widened considerably as he stared up at his father.

"Stupid boy," the man grumbled before knocking him aside, hard, with the butt of the gun.

Stephen whimpered at the intense pain that was pounding through his head, making him dizzy and disoriented.

"You want to see her die? Huh? Watch, go ahead watch!"

Stephen blurrily saw the gun being brought up to his mothers skull; saw it being pressed against her temple, saw the shaky finger start to press on the trigger.

Desperately, Stephen reached both arms out and yanked as hard as possible on his father's leg. The drunken man went crashing to the floor, the gun going off with a deafening blast. His head hit the side of the coffee table and then he was out.

Stephen was taking short, wheezing breaths as he tried to calm himself down.

"Momma! Mom!" he yelped at the sight of blood oozing sluggishly out of her shoulder. She was on the ground, looking up at the ceiling and screaming in pain.

"I donno what to do," he sobbed, crawling over to her and holding her head in his small hands.

"I donno what to do." He repeated, tears running down his cheeks. He needed Uncle Jamie, or someone. An ambulance.

Stumbling to his feet he ran to the kitchen and dialed 911 as fast as he could. The ringing went on and on until finally a woman's alert voice responded.

"Hello, can I help you?"

"I donno what to do," he mumbled, hiccupping while tears continued to fall.

"She's shot and I donno what to do," he whimpered into the phone, sinking to the floor and trying to overcome the rising panic.

"What's your address?" The woman asked in a business like tone. It strangely fit the situation.

"87 7th s-street," He stammered out, glancing into the living room where his mother was lying, her screaming having ceased. The blood hadn't stopped.

"Just stay calm and we'll get an ambulance and a policeman there as soon as possible. Just stay calm, alright?"

"A-alright."

"Okay, they'll be there in about 5 minutes, just stay tight."

The lady hung up, leaving Stephen sitting on the kitchen floor, wiping his tears away and sniveling into his sweatshirt sleeve. Uncle Jamie should've been there, he could've done something.

Not 5 minutes later he heard sirens. Crawling into the living room he found his father mumbling incoherently, though Stephen heard a few curse words. His mother was still and quiet except for her harsh breathing. Taking her head in his hands again he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Don't die, please. Just don't die." He whispered to her, just as the paramedics burst into the house.

The next part was a blur. Two of the medics attended to his mother while two went to his father, who was struggling feebly as the policeman attached handcuffs to him. Stephen was curled up in a corner watching with wide, frightened eyes.

"Are you okay?" A soft, soothing voice asked, and Stephen looked up into an older man's kind brown eyes. Stephen just stared.

"Common, lets get you to the hospital with your mother," he said, reaching out to pick Stephen up. The boy let him and pressed his face into the man's chest, trying to ignore the shrill noises of the sirens and his fathers cursing.

"Hey there, can we ask you some questions?" A policeman asked, smiling at Stephen, who's head was resting on the paramedics shoulder. Stephen just stared, clutching the man's clothes a bit tighter and burying his head so that his eyes weren't visible.

"How about later?" The man said. The policeman muttered grudgingly but left, and the medic got into the ambulance, where the other medics were already starting treatment on Stephen's mother.

"What's your name?" The man asked in that benevolent voice.

"Stephen," he mumbled.

"I'm Patrick. Are you hurt in anyway, huh?" He pulled Stephen away from his chest and looked him over. Touching Stephen's head with a warm hand he clucked at the bruise that was forming there.

"Did he hit you?"

"With the gun." He whispered, stealing a quick glance at his mother, eyes wide as saucers.

"She's not gonna die, is she?"

Patrick sighed.

"I don't know, but we'll do the best we can, and I think she has a good chance. It all depends how much blood she lost and if it hit a vital area or not," he paused, "Do you have any relatives you need to call?"

"My Uncle,"

"Do you have a phone number?" Patrick inquired, getting his cell phone out and handing it to Stephen. Taking it in his hands, he haltingly typed in the number and put it to his ear.

It rang a couple of times before Jamie's loud voice answered with a stern, "Hello?"

"Uncle Jamie?"

"Stephen, is that you? What's up?"

"Momma and I are in an ambulance,"

"What?"

"An ambulance. He shot Momma,"

"Wait, wait a sec. What hospital are you going to? Are you guys okay?" Jamie's tone turned from firm to anxious in an instant.

"Yeah, I'm alright. I donno about Momma. Hold on a moment," Stephen turned to Patrick, "What hospital are we going to?"

"North Chase Hospital," he replied. Stephen repeated the words to Jamie.

"Okay, okay, I'll be there as soon as possible. You guys stay safe, okay?"

"Yes."

Jamie hung up without saying goodbye, probably too busy trying to figure out where the hospital was.

Stephen sighed deeply and tentatively leaned his head against Patrick like before, his eyelids drooping.

"We'll be there soon. You just sleep, 'kay?"

Stephen replied with a yawn. He didn't want to sleep because of Momma. What if she woke up and he was asleep or worse yet, what if she died? Stephen didn't dwell long on these thoughts, however, because he couldn't resist slumber any longer.


	5. Chapter 5

**_The shortest chapter yet. I don't exactly like this chapter because I had no idea how to do this. Hopefully the next chapter will be better...since I sort of have an idea for that. Anyway, sorry if it's boring._**

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A white ceiling was the first thing Stephen saw when he woke up. Blinking dazedly, he tried to figure out where he was. He was on a soft, unfamiliar bed, and there were other children around him in beds. Some were talking, others were sleeping, and a few were watching the television that was playing Tom and Jerry.

Stephen noticed light coming in from a window, so it must be Christmas day, and the kids…they were all in pajamas. He sat bolt upright when it occurred to him exactly where he was. A hospital, and his mother, she must be in this place somewhere.

His head was throbbing endlessly. Touching his forehead, he felt a thick bandage around his skull and looking down at himself he realized he was in the same kind of pajamas as the other kids.

Stephen bit his lip and burrowed under the covers until his whole body was immersed. Just then, a familiar voice came from above him.

"Hey, Stephen buddy."

The young boy peeked out and stared up into his Uncle Jamie's face. Timidly, he sat up and impulsively hugged his uncle's waist while Jamie bent down and hugged him back. Jamie took a seat on the chair next to the bed and watched Stephen glance around.

"You're mother's in surgery now. I'm sure she's going to be fine."

Stephen turned his flat bluish green eyes towards his Uncle, a frown making him appear older than his eight years.

"You won't leave, will you?"

"No. Not until this is all over. Hey, I heard they're going to have a person here to read Christmas stories to you kids. I'll go get something to eat for us and you can listen to the stories. When I come back I'll check you out and we can go see your mother, 'Kay?"

Stephen nodded and laid his head back on the pillow, eyes following Uncle Jamie's retreating form. At least he wouldn't leave.

"Hello kids!" All eyes turned towards the elder woman with books in her hands. She took a seat in the middle of the room while the children clustered around her. Stephen didn't even bother to look, just kept drawing on the paper a nurse had given him.

"We'll read "A Christmas Carol" first. So…" her voice was soft and gentle, easy to understand and good for reading. It sounded somewhat familiar, and curiosity finally made Stephen lift his head.

Anne. It was Anne. He just stared in wonder, his pencil still. Now that he was listening it was actually an interesting story, though he was pretty sure it was an abridged version, seeing as it was so short.

When she finished that story she picked up another and began reading that one. Stephen drew while he listened, deciding on redoing the one he'd meant to give her previously. It was slightly changed, but Stephen even thought it came out better.

Uncle Jamie came with the food and scooted pass the children to hand Stephen a sandwich and a juice box. He accepted both without a word, glad to see the sandwich was not tuna. Jamie left not a moment later to get him checked out.

* * *

Anne finished after three books, gave the children some candy and then stood up to leave. Her eyes landed on the boy sitting in the bed, staring at her. She smiled outwardly, but inwardly grimaced. Why was in he in a hospital.

"Hey Stephen!" she greeted, going over and patting his head. He smiled in that shy, sad way and looked down at his half eaten sandwich.

"What're you doing here?" She asked, taking a seat beside his bed. He shrugged, took a deep breath, and told his story.

Anne paid close attention, horror making her cringe at several parts of the account. When he concluded she saw his eyes were shimmery with tears.

"Momma's in surgery now," he mumbled, taking a small bite of his food and gazing away.

Anne patted his shoulder, "Don't you worry about it. She'll be fine if that's what your Uncle said. I've got get going. My daughter and her family are waiting at my house."

Anne stood up slowly and just as she was going to say goodbye, he handed a drawing to her.

"I redid it here," he informed her, staring at her with big eyes. It was wonderful, for the woman looked just like her, and her daughter could easily be that child. She smiled broadly, giving him a big hug and whispering in his ear.

"Thank you so much, Stephen. Merry Christmas."

She turned to leave, not expecting him to say anything back and headed out the door for her home, holding back tears.

Jamie came back only a minute later with Stephen's clothes.

"Come on, buddy. Go get changed and then we can go see if your Mom's out of surgery yet."

Stephen obeyed methodically, trying to ignore the big bandage on his head as they walked down the corridor toward the operation rooms.


	6. Chapter 6

The play ground was mostly full when Stephen reached it. The kids were laughing and playing while they waited for the school bell to ring. Stephen trudged through the gate and sat down on one of the empty benches, his dusty brown hair sticking out in tufts under his warm hat.

It had been two weeks since his father had been sent to prison and since Uncle Jamie had left for his job far away. Stephen hadn't answered the phone when Jamie called; still harboring a grudge for his Uncle's leaving, especially since he'd promised.

Stephen looked down at his cold hands. He'd accidentally left his gloves at home in his quick leaving and now he was suffering the consequences. The fact was, Stephen was terrified of school. The kids were all bigger than him and liked to make fun of him. And of course they would've seen the article about his father in the newspaper. Every kid knew every other kid in the neighborhood, if not personally, through someone else.

The sound of the bell ringing made Stephen raise his head. A load moan rose in the schoolyard, but the kids generally listened and ran to get into their lines. Stephen stepped into the back so that he was obscured by the rest of the kids, sticking his hands into his pockets.

"Hey," A kid hissed into his ear, poking him hard in the back. Stephen glanced over his shoulder at the other boy, narrowing his eyes. The boy was one of the people who annoyed Stephen most and especially liked backing him into corners when no one else was around. His hair was black and his eyes brown, his face narrow with high cheekbones and funny small ears.

"Hello, Dale," Stephen mumbled, trying to suppress his anger beneath his cool mask. It used to be so easy, but the past few weeks had been eye opening in terms of emotions. His mother now sat at home staring with broken eyes at the TV. She never talked to Stephen anymore, she didn't make him food, and she didn't even feed herself. Stephen had to do all that now.

"No cheating in Math this year, right? I might just have to tell the teacher this time."

"Maybe if you pay attention to what she says you won't have to cheat," Stephen shot back, ignoring the shove he got from the other boy when the line started to move forward.

The children filed into their appropriate classrooms, rushing to take a seat next to their friends. Stephen just took one that was open, which happened to be between two girls dressed in pink. Right from the start they began chatting over his desk; completely ignoring he was even there. Stephen just wished headphones were allowed.

"So, class, I'm Mrs. Talley. Our first lesson will be in reading. I've heard this group did rather well in 3rd grade. I hope you all do as well this year…"

Her voice droned on and on like a broken record, but she didn't seem cruel so Stephen didn't mind. She began handing out books at every desk, but her form stopped at his. She gently took the pencil from his hand and the paper out from under his elbow.

"No drawing during class," she reprimanded sweetly, dropping a thick hard cover book on his desk. Stephen glared after her, though he knew he shouldn't have. It just was happening more often, those bursts of rage at everything. With a deep sigh he picked the book up and flipped to the page she'd said.

After school, Stephen started walking back to his house with the throng of other kids who lived around him. Dale was one of those kids.

"Stephen, I heard about your dad,"

"Shut up, Dale," Stephen growled, walking faster.

"So did he really shoot your mom? Wow, that's harsh." Dale said in a sarcastic voice. Without a second thought Stephen turned around and shoved Dale to the ground.

"I said shut up!" he shouted, kicking the other boy hard in the ribs. Dale just snarled and tripped Stephen onto the grass next to him, punching him in the face. The other kids all stopped and stared, some cheering for one or the other. Stephen blocked the punch and tried to kick the other boy off of him, but Dale just kept punching and hitting. Stephen was considerably weaker then Dale and obviously not as used to fights.

Finally, Stephen whimpered beneath the rain of blows.

"Please, stop," he said, covering his face with his arms. Dale did, surprisingly, his nose bloody. Stephen sat up with a groan, holding his stomach.

"Serves you right, idiot," Dale scoffed, getting to his feet and walking off to his home. Stephen stared at the ground while the rest of the kids ran off to their homes. Once they were all gone he got to his feet and wiped tears away, shuffling to his house.

He now had a black eye and two bruises on his jaw, along with an ache in his stomach. But his anger was gone, mostly. Now he was just feeling…lonely, again.

The door was open when he got back, so he just stepped in, shutting it behind him. His mother was sitting in the very same place as before, her hands in her lap and her eyes staring listlessly the muted TV. Stephen crept past her into the kitchen where he grabbed some cookies he'd made the other day from the counter and brought them with him up to his room.

It was freezing in his box like room so he switched the heat up some while he munched on one of the sweet cookies. He knew he'd put too much sugar, but it had mostly been an accident. What he did know was that he really needed to go food shopping. Unfortunately he didn't have any money and he wasn't sure his mom had any either. She hadn't worked in two weeks, but he was sure she'd start soon…hopefully.

A sudden thought occurred to him, but Stephen shot it down. It was selfish to ask Anne to get help him get food. But then...who else was there? Biting his lip he got off his bed and walked into his mother's room where there was a phone and phone book. Flipping to the M's, he searched for Marley. Anne had told him her last name when she'd come to the hospital again to see if his mother was still there. Now Stephen could use it.

The phone rang 3 times before a crisp voice answered. A male voice. Stephen cringed, wondering if he'd gotten the right number.

"H-hi," he stuttered, "is Anne Marley there?"

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Uh, Stephen Mailer."

"Hold on," He said in that same crisp tone. Stephen heard him calling Anne's name in the background.

"Hello?" Anne said in her kind voice.

"Hi, it's…Stephen."

"Oh, hi Stephen! How've you been?"

"Fine. I was just…well, I was just wondering if you could take me to the grocery store."

"Oh, I suppose. When?"

"Tomorrow after school, if that's alright. My mom, she, uh, hasn't been able to work and I can't get to the store."

"No problem, honey. I'll pick you up at the your school. The one near the playground, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, see you soon. Take care, okay Stephen?"

"Yeah. Bye."

Stephen hung up and put the phone away, his chest heaving with dry sobs. It was almost suffocating. Stumbling into his room he crawled under the bed and lay down flat on his stomach, his chin nestled in his arms. His chest felt better now, but his heart didn't. Just before he fell asleep he realized blood was dripping from a cut on his cheek.


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, I know it's been a while, but here's chapter 7. This is more a transmission chapter, one to think about kind of thing. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and such. :)

* * *

**Anne didn't ask about Stephen's black eye and the bruises, or why he kept avoiding her questions. She didn't have to. She'd seen the kids in the playground shout after him as he walked to her car, and she'd seen the nasty glares they shot him. No, she definitely didn't need to ask. 

The first few minutes of the car ride Stephen didn't talk, the only noise was the radio playing a Celine Dion Cd. Anne glanced his way a few times to make sure he was okay, but she thought it best not to break the silence.

"Thank you," He said at last, finally turning his head to look at her. Anne smiled, keeping her eyes on the road.

"You're quite welcome. So how's your mother doing, and more importantly, how are you doing?"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shrug and start fiddling with his gloves.

"We're both fine. She said she's gonna start working next week."

"So what's your favorite subject in school?" Anne thought this topic might lighten the mood, and as expected, it did. He began telling her about his art class and that the Teacher had liked his drawings and how the computer class was fun, except he'd accidentally disabled his computer by clicking the wrong button.

The grocery store was pretty crowded for a Tuesday afternoon, but they managed to find a good parking spot right up front. Anne was surprised to find Stephen had written a list, not his mother, and that worried her. Was his mother really that disabled that she couldn't even write a list for what she wanted at the store?

Scanning the paper, Anne found it mostly essentials, nothing extra, nothing expensive.

"Is this all you need?" She asked as they walked down the first aisle, Stephen picking up a few cans of soup and depositing them in the basket.

"Yep. I'm not very good at cooking," he grinned crookedly, a cute picture to Anne, but also something that struck her as odd once again. Stephen did the cooking?

Stephen picked up a few more various canned items, two boxes of cheerios, a box of granola bars, some apples, bread, lunch meat and cheese, milk, and yoghurt. Anne noticed he'd gotten everything on the list without even asking her what was on it (1).

After they'd paid for the items, Anne insisted that Stephen and her go to the little store next door that sold candy. He reluctantly agreed, but she could've sworn she saw excitement in his eyes. It struck her he probably hadn't had sweets in quite a while.

* * *

Stephen walked slowly, looking at the rows of candy with fascination. He remembered going to a shop like this when he had been 5 and his Uncle Jamie had visited. That burst of anger came again at merely the thought of his Uncle. Stephen almost wanted to blame Jamie, but he couldn't, 'cause deep down in his heart he knew that Uncle Jamie was completely free of blame.

Stephen could feel Anne's eyes on his back. Those pitying, kind eyes that made him feel comforted, but at the same time guilty. Guilty for being angry, for asking for her help. Putting these thoughts aside, Stephen focused on the candy in front of him, dragging his hand along the glass as he ambled past. There was chocolate, colored hard candy, sour and sugary strips of multi-colored dentist nightmares. Stephen stood for a long time, staring down at the chocolate covered nuts and next to them the gummy worms.

It was odd, he thought, that they were next to each other. They could've been called opposites. The sugared, artificial sweetness of the worms, and the practical sweet and salty flavor of the nuts. And then he went on to think of which most fit him, and he almost went for the worms, because at the moment his life seemed artificial, but then the nuts were not too sweet. They were realistic, just like the life he was in. Real, hard…un-yielding-

"Stephen, are you alright?" Stephen started at Anne's voice, turning to face her. It just hit him he'd been standing in front of the candy with a blank expression on his face while he analyzed which type was more for him. He would've laughed, except it wasn't entirely right for the moment.

"Uh, yeah. I think I'm gonna get the chocolate covered nuts."

* * *

"I was wondering, well if…if you think your mother is doing a good job looking after you?"

Stephen stared wide-eyed at Anne. It was hard to comprehend at first and then even harder to answer.

"I-I…well, she's gonna be fine soon. And Uncle Jamie will come back in the spring, he said, and-"

"Stephen, answer me truthfully please."

The pair was sitting in the car in front of Stephen's house. Anne wanted to get a few more answers before he disappeared into that silent, dark house.

The reaction to her question wasn't what she'd expected. Anne had anticipated Stephen lying outright, but he had looked startled, as if surprised that someone would care, and then nervous that she had been able to guess what was going on.

"I can look after myself until she's better. I'll…" he paused, probably thinking of the right words to say, "I'll call you if I need anything, if that's alright with you."

He looked hopeful, as if she would actually refuse. The idea seemed preposterous to the elderly lady.

"Of course. Take care."

"Yeah, thanks again, I'll get money to you as soon as possible."

"I told you not to worry about it," Anne reprimanded with a grin. Stephen stepped out of the car, carrying his grocery bags, his back pack, and sack of chocolate covered nuts.

"Bye," he called, ignoring her last words, though she saw him smile shyly back.

Stephen walked up his front steps, waving at the retreating automobile. The door was locked, like he'd left it that morning, so he unlocked it with his set of keys and stepped in, the only sound the television. That was all he heard in the house now a days, nothing had changed from the way he left it. Except…there was his mother, in the kitchen cleaning the sink. Stephen stared for a moment, dropping the bags on the countertop gently so as to not startle her. She did anyway, her eyes widened momentarily as she turned to look at him. And Stephen had a horrible feeling that she really didn't know who he was, until her eyes seemed to clear and she smiled. A false artificial smile that made him think that he probably should've gotten the gummy worms instead.

"Hi, Stephen. How was school?" She asked in a voice that matched her face. Stephen was pretty sure she was trying to make everything feel normal. If only she knew she was failing miserably.

"Fine. I picked up some groceries too." He slid into a seat and watched her sift through the bags. He hadn't bothered telling her that Anne had taken him. She probably wouldn't like the idea of a stranger taking him somewhere while she was trying to act so normal.

"I'm going back to work tomorrow. So how about I take you to school on the way?" His mother began bustling around the kitchen putting the items where they belonged, not bothering to wait for his answer.

"Sure. Uh, I'm gonna go upstairs," he said meekly, still intimidated by her odd actions. She didn't reply as he ran up the stairs with his backpack and candy and into his room where he dropped his backpack on the floor and his bag of chocolate on the bed. He was just going to start his homework when the phone rang. He'd moved the phone from his mother's room to his room when she started not answering it. Stephen picked it up and held it to his ear, absently saying hello.

"Hey, Stephen." Stephen paused, feeling that rage well up again.

"Yes?" He asked in a stolid tone, an inch away from putting the phone back in its holder.

"Is your mom there? I made some last minute plans and I forgot to contact her, so I mean…if she's sleeping it's okay, I'll call later-"

"She's not sleeping. What do you mean, last minute plans?" Stephen was suspicious and slightly curious.

"Well, before I left I told her I just had to get a transfer for my job and then I could come move in with you guys. It was supposed to be a surprise for you. I think your mom kind of forgot I was coming back," Jamie said in his deep voice, a voice that sounded dreadfully false. Stephen wasn't sure if it was or if he just wanted it to be.

"Hold on," Stephen instructed before calling down to his mother, "Uncle Jamie's on the phone, mom!"

He waited a moment then heard the click and his mom's voice.

"Okay, you can get off now, Stephen," she said in the same tone from before. Stephen grudgingly hung up, his mind running over the idea of Uncle Jamie living with them. As he dragged his pencil over the paper in a semblance of a line, he decided he really should've gotten the gummy worms instead.

* * *

**_(1) I kind of put that in just to show that Stephen was pretty smart and good a memorizing, something that would be needed in an Agent. _**

**_And why the thoughts of gummy worms? Just ignore it, I'm just being analytical._**

**_R&R please. :)_**


End file.
